


A Light in the Dark

by Kedreeva



Series: When in Rome [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Warm Angst, burning of the library of alexandria, memory sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 01:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20219674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: Crowley hears the Library of Alexandria burned down, and he knows where he needs to be right now.





	A Light in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is now available as a [podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Good_Omens_Podfics/works/20233147) by [BiP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiP/pseuds/BiP)!

* * *

_Just let me hold you_  
_while you're falling apart_  
_Just let me hold you_  
_so we both fall down_

* * *

Crowley rapped gently upon the closed and locked door. There was nothing to keep him out of it, except his respect for the occupant- Crowley had never met a lock that wouldn't sigh and release at only the whisper of a caress. He received no response, and shifted the bag over his shoulder to knock again, feeling a little more foolish with every passing second.

He had no business being here.

He had no business doing what he was about to do.

He had no business intruding upon what he knew had to lie beyond this door.

Carefully, he shifted the bag off his shoulder and nearly set it on the ground, but he stopped short. He couldn't leave it so exposed in the doorway. There was no telling how long it would be before it was found, if it was even found by the right person. It could be stolen, and he'd never forgive himself.

The lock undid itself for him, the door swung open on silent hinges. It would be an angel that trusted the world enough to remove that kind of warning, he thought as he stepped across the threshold, the hinges squeaking shut behind him. He'd fix it again later, if he needed to.

The dwelling was small, at least compared to the sort they would usually occupy if they stayed anywhere full time, but it still took Crowley several tries to find the bedroom. There were no candles lit to drive back the dark of evening flooding in through the open windows, but Crowley didn't need fire to see. His slitted eyes gave him a perfectly clear vision of Aziraphale's back where he lay curled in the bed, his wings up covering his face. Crowley could taste the salted scent of tears in the air.

"Aziraphale?" he called softly from the doorway. "It's uh... it's Crowley."

"Please go away," Aziraphale told him. It held no malice, no heat, his tone breaking over the last word as if it had barely made it past his throat.

"I will," Crowley said quickly, shifting the sack off his shoulder again and holding it awkwardly in both hands for a moment. He shouldn't be this nervous, but he couldn't stop the patter of his heart or the dryness of his mouth. "I swear I will, but... I uhm... I heard about what happened." He knew better than to ask if the angel was alright.

Aziraphale curled in tighter, his body shaking in a silent sob, and Crowley dropped all pretenses to come to his side. Aziraphale flinched away from the ghost of Crowley's touch along his spine. "I'd like to be left alone, please."

"Of course," Crowley said, kicking himself as he stepped back again- what use would an angel have for the comfort of a demon, after all? He probably figured Crowley had something to do with it. Crowley's superiors certainly had, and for once he'd had to argue against it. "Where should I leave these books?"

A long moment of silence stretched out before one of Aziraphale's wings lowered a little as he rolled enough to take in the sight of Crowley. "What books?"

Suddenly at a loss for how to explain himself, Crowley held up the bag he'd lugged down here. He moved close enough to lay it upon the bed beside Aziraphale. He swallowed a couple of times, scraping for a few words that would matter before he was chased out. Anything he said at this point was likely to set Aziraphale off one way or another.

"They're-" he started as Aziraphale folded his wings away and struggled up. He looked a mess, his hair unkempt and his face red and blotchy from crying. Crowley steeled himself as Aziraphale began to open the tie keeping the sack closed.

The first bound sheaf of papers came free of the sack and Aziraphale gasped, head whipping up to look at Crowley. "Where did you get this? All of these?"

Crowley swallowed again and couldn't keep steady under Aziraphale's scrutiny. He fidgeted and looked away. "Stole 'em," he mumbled, wincing, and then hurried to explain when he saw Aziraphale tense. "Before the fire. It was just a bit of mischief. I thought I'd... I don't know. Take them for a bit and bring them back in a few years. No real harm done." At the wounded look in Aziraphale's eyes, he tossed his pride out the window and told the truth. "I thought I'd bring them to you first, to talk about." He could feel his blush now, heating his cheeks and cresting over his ears and flushing down his collar. "I... they were my favorites."

Aziraphale stared at him, and Crowley couldn't stare back, incinerating internally for laying himself so bare before an angel just so he could offer some small drop of comfort in light of such a loss. "You've read them?"

Crowley nodded tightly. "Every word." It had been work, but he had done it. He had wanted to thank the angel for helping him learn to read this language. He had wanted to bring books to Aziraphale as an excuse to see him again, for something to talk about next time they met, but not these books. Not like this- never like this.

With a sniffle disguised as more of a sniff, Aziraphale shifted to make space on the bed for Crowley to sit. Finally, Crowley looked, gaze flicking between Aziraphale and the open space, and then he carefully folded himself into it as requested. The space was warm and a little damp and Crowley didn't care at all; he'd sit down in a pool of boiling sulfur if it would wipe that damaged look from Aziraphale's face.

They sat in silence for a while, Aziraphale pulling out each book and scroll that Crowley had so carefully stolen from the library at Alexandria. He laid them all around him on the bed, fingers tracing reverently over them and fresh tears leaping to his eyes. Crowley ached to brush them away, to take Aziraphale's face in his hands and say _they'll make more, they'll make so many more, they'll mourn this __with you__ but they will use its memory to protect the others, they're so tenacious_, but he kept his hands to himself. Even if his touch would be welcome, angel tears were just as ruinous to demons as holy water.

"You visited, then," Aziraphale finally managed, voice rusty. "If you took these, you must have visited."

"A few times," Crowley agreed, hands in his lap, one thumb picking at the other. "It was beautiful."

"Do you know who-"

"Wasn't us," Crowley said quickly. "Even we wouldn't touch something like that with fire. Neutral ground, libraries. People can get up to all sorts of evil with the right book to guide them."

"I suppose they can," Aziraphale conceded, fingers wrapped around the last scroll he had pulled from the bag. "I can't believe it's gone, just like that. I'd only been once, just after the first bit went up. I'd meant to go back, to see it all... well." He forced a weak smile and gave a quick glance to Crowley. "There's no use in wishful thinking like that."

Heart wrapped around his throat, Crowley held out one hand to him. Aziraphale made to place the scroll in it, but Crowley held up his other hand to stop him, shaking his head a little. Aziraphale's eyes widened, but he shifted the scroll to his left hand, and slipped his other into Crowley's. His skin was warm and soft and burned just a little from the tearful residue, but Crowley held on anyway.

"Close your eyes," he murmured, and followed suit when Aziraphale did.

And then he shared.

Rough hewn stone swept clean daily, the walls lined with beautifully carved shelves stacked to the considerably tall ceilings with scrolls of every sort. Shelves and shelves piled with papers and books in every direction as far as anyone could see. Sunlight streamed through open archways in a covered atrium, statues gracing the windows and busts lining the walls. The floor of the atrium carried a swirl of colored stones, expertly cut and placed to create more art, and the carvings on the walls had been painted with rich dyes.

Crowley shared the sweeping stairway in the main sitting area and the vaulted ceilings and the stone pillars that curled at the top. He shared the soft benches for reading that were tucked into every nook, and the finely-crafted tables scattered with scrolls and packed with humans reading all sorts of stories and information. The very air felt reverent and quiet and loved- so much so even Crowley could feel it suffusing every inch of the structure.

The entire place smelled of sunlight and papyrus and dust and _knowledge_. Crowley's senses extended beyond the mortal ones, haunting the halls of the Library of Alexandria with the mortal remnants of the creators that had added to it. Maps curled their shorelines and streets down into the aisles, fiction spilling its characters onto the stone. When Crowley's memory ran his fingers over the spines of books in a row, he knew Aziraphale felt it, could feel the work and skill that had gone into crafting it and the pride and the joy.

He shared every memory of the place he had, including those that did not favor him, sneaking in and out with the items he had brought to Aziraphale tonight. He held nothing back and when he finally withdrew, easing Aziraphale out of his mind, he realized his own cheeks were wet with Aziraphale's grief. He swiped a shaky, scalded palm over his eyes and blinked to clear them.

"Thank you," Aziraphale whispered from beside him, wiping at his own eyes. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," Crowley told him vehemently. "I should have asked you to come with me. You would have loved it so much you'd have still been there when the fire started."

Aziraphale's smile bubbled up, still sad but helpless against his fondness. "You're probably right. Still..."

"Still," Crowley agreed. He let out a huff of breath, and hauled himself to his feet. "I should go. I just- I thought those would be better off in your hands. If you haven't got a collection yet, maybe you could start your own. One the humans can't burn down."

Aziraphale's brittle smile softened considerably. "Not a bad idea. I do have a few already."

Crowley smiled back, hoping for once that how he felt showed clearly on his face. He wasn't good with this sort of thing, but he thought that perhaps his best this time had been enough. It had been a start, anyway.

"I'll see you around, angel," he said softly.

Aziraphale smiled and gave him a nod. "Soon, I hope. And under better circumstances."

"I'll make sure of it," Crowley swore, and fled before he did something really damning, like deciding to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> perilouscowboys on Tunglr dot hell told me not not to think about Aziraphale's reaction to the Library of Alexandria burning down, but no one can tell me what to do, so I did it anyway.
> 
> Beginning Lyrics are from "Ever the Same" by Rob Thomas.
> 
> This can stand alone or you can take it as a direct follow up to the first part of this series, up to you! And yes, I know the timelines don't match up, but listen, here's my reasoning: I don't care.


End file.
